Death To Thora - COMPLETE SHORT STORY

Nine

My head is pounding.

Nymeria pours me a cup of coffee. I study the dark lines that swirl across her shoulder and carry up the side of her neck. Even she has used the energy before. Who in this town hasn't? Just Draven and I?

I offer her thanks as she slides the mug across the bar. I find a seat in the way back of the cafe, where there are black leather booths instead of tables. I pull out my laptop and force myself to write something– anything.

No words come to me, because this town is much more than a hidden gem. Every sentence I try to write feels dishonest. This town is not just 'a culture like no other', it's a supernatural anomaly. How is it even possible that the plague of peculiarity only infects this place? How could a paranormal force know to stop at the town border?

I tie my hair back in frustration. So I'll lie. If I can't tell the truth, then I'll tell a vague version of it. But what if that attracts more people here? What if someone else comes here, what if their luck is less merciful than mine?

I tap my pen against my notepad, filled with observations. Is it even ethical to write this article? If it's not the article keeping me here, then what is it? Am I really staying for work like I've been telling myself?

The pen bounces off the floor. I bury my head in my hands, trying to silence the headache. Each pulse of pain feels like a shout in my ear, a warning.

"Are you alright over there?" Nymeria calls to me.

"Does such a thing really exist in this town?" Even speaking hurts. I groan in protest of my condition.

Her footsteps approach me, and I feel the cushion of the booth give to her lightweight beside me.

"I'll be fine," I assure her. I press my palms further against my eyes. "Just a late night."

She places something on the table. I look up to find a plate with a small pastry centered.

"This might make you feel better. My mother used to make it for us growing up."

I stare at it. I can't picture myself eating anything right now without throwing it right back up. She waits for me to take it, and I do it out of social obligation.

One bite takes away the nausea. It's a delicious blend of sweet and savory. "What is this?"

"We call it Comfort Aisle."

I take another bite. To my amazement, the headache begins to fade. "What's in it?"

"It's a secret recipe and a little bit of Lunos."

I stare at her like she just punched me in the face. "You laced my food?"

She laughs. "Relax. It's not enough to trigger the hallucinations. Micro-doses of Lunos can relieve stress and pain."

"How have I never heard of Lunos before coming here?"

She shrugs. "Lunos is only found in the trees here. It's originally a sap and we harden it into a pill." She plucks a small piece from the Comfort Aisle in my hands. She looks young against the warm glow of the dim lighting, though I know she can't be much younger than me. Her mousy brown hair falls into long waves down her back.

A question pops into my head. "What was it like growing up here?"

She thinks for a moment. "Enchanting." The word comes out more sorrowful than I expected. Her reminiscent smile hangs on by a thread. "Like a real-life fairytale."

"Calix doesn't seem to feel the same way." I note.

"He used to. As we got older, the warmth of the fire turned into the cold of the rain. Instead of being grateful for the fireplace you begin to wonder why it has to rain so much in the first place. After our parents died, those stories became nightmares. We grew up believing that this place healed people, that those hoods in the streets were guardians. But they aren't, they're a cult of menace, and this place really just hurts people." Her voice slows to a whisper. "Good people."